


Hear Your Shadows in the Trees

by Vampiric_Charms



Series: Burns Most of All [8]
Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-20
Updated: 2016-04-20
Packaged: 2018-06-03 10:53:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,220
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6608014
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vampiric_Charms/pseuds/Vampiric_Charms
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mairon discovers one of Melkor’s several secrets, though he is not sure at all what to do with the information he has stumbled upon.  Melkor really only seems put off at being <i>confronted</i> about it - because really, why does it matter?</p><p>Set before Mairon's fall.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hear Your Shadows in the Trees

**Author's Note:**

  * For [samwisespotatoes](https://archiveofourown.org/users/samwisespotatoes/gifts).



> This was born from the idea of “did Melkor try to turn any other Maiar to the dark side?” after he was banished and before the wars. Mairon was obviously - _obviously_ \- his favorite. But still, how active was his recruiting? This one also kind of, sort of ties into the previously posted story - _Hush of Fires Calling_ \- with a recurring theme. Set before Mairon's fall.
> 
> I'm still open for requests, if you have any!
> 
> And samwisespotatoes, I know you did not request this - but I’m gifting it to you anyway. Just because. <3
> 
> Enjoy!

Mairon leaned back against the tree under whose loose, weeping branches he had taken refuge and lowered his open notebook to rest against his bent knees. The stick of graphite, held between his stained fingers, pressed against the page for a moment longer before he lowered that, as well. He was supposed to be transcribing notes, his own taken in quick shorthand during so many hours and experiments in the forge, for Aulë’s large bound - mostly private - tombs, but was finding it difficult to concentrate just then. 

Rather than written words, elegant sketches were taking shape on the paper. New cuts for stones, diagrams for filigree yet to be wrought, necklaces and rings and bracelets he wished to create. Embroidery, even, to hem with finely spun gold and silver thread into plain clothing. Distractions, he knew Aulë would call them all, these little drawings, and yet he did not stop his hand from creating them. There was something easy about it, freeing, and he enjoyed it very much.

A gentle rustling of the willow’s branches at his back brought his attention around, and he glanced over, ready to close his notebook if Curumo had found him at long last, but instead Melkor pushed the silvery leaves aside and gave him an amused grin. The branches closed behind him, ensconcing them both into an ideal bit of privacy even out in the gardens.

“I have spent a good while looking for you,” he said as he approached. “Imagine my shock not to find you in the forge, so near those terrible flames, but to hear your spirit calling me out to the arbor.”

“I felt the need to be near the earth, at least for a short while,” Mairon replied, the hand still holding the graphite unconsciously falling to the mossy ground to feel the dirt and, under that, the pulsing hum of unhewn stone and rock drawing at his soul in ebbing waves. It was terribly calming. 

“You do seem rather melancholy,” Melkor pointed out, his voice softening slightly. “Is everything all right?”

Much to Mairon’s surprise, the Vala lowered himself to sit on the ground beside him, back resting against the tree’s narrow trunk. Their shoulders were nearly touching in the small space allotted, as though everything between them were completely balanced and without any imperfection. Melkor let out an exhale as he settled there, turning his head to gaze up at the pale leaves on their bowing branches for a few seconds before looking over at him, the question still asked and genuine in his expression.

“Yes, quite,” he finally answered with a little smile. It was the truth, certainly. The forge had simply become overcrowded, so many Maiar gathered there to watch Aulë work on a new creation that Mairon had no interest in seeing. He had slipped out before anyone had noticed his departure. It surprised him, sometimes, how greatly he preferred solitude when his fellows preferred the company of many.

“I am glad to hear it. What is this?” Melkor reached for his notebook, still open to the page of sketches. 

Mairon allowed him take it without complaint, letting his head press back against the tree and watching as the Vala examined his little drawings. “These are lovely,” Melkor murmured, a little smile tugging his lips up at one corner. “Who knew your talents extended from smithing into art? Though,” he added with a chuckle, “would Aulë condone you eschewing your work in his forge for time spent doodling under a willow? One might think you have lost your head.”

“Perhaps I have,” Mairon said with a sigh, accepting the notebook back and closing the cover. He set in on the ground, the stick of graphite still in his hand. “Even if only a little.” 

“And what do you mean by that?” Melkor asked, an eyebrow raising suspiciously.

Mairon did not respond to the question, not exactly sure himself, and instead looked again at Melkor as he fiddled with the graphite. It was not so much a nervous motion, but more a desire to feel the piece of earth under his fingers as it smudged across his skin. “I had a meal with some of the Maiar not too long ago,” he began conversationally after a moment. “I usually dine alone, and I can honestly say I have not had the chance to converse with these particular kin before.”

Melkor watched him closely, curious, and Mairon felt his eyes burning into his face.

“Would you believe, they confided something rather impressive to me? It seems I am turned secret keeper for so many, and yet always keep my own affairs so close.” He paused, not at all sure why he was bringing this up. Now or _ever_ , for that matter. It was not important, surely, and meant very little to him. But he pushed on, lowering his gaze away from the icy blue one trying very hard to hold it. “They told me you have been showing them magic tricks, on your visits.” Another pause as he spoke these words, heavy between them, and he was unsure if he regretted them when Melkor shifted slightly. 

“Have you, then, been gifting your presence to others?”

Melkor was silent, and Mairon met his eyes again, his own somewhat narrowed with the subtle daring of his question. Finally, Melkor stuck out his chin and asked, “Are you envious?”

“No, I am not at all bothered by your time spent elsewhere,” Mairon replied, rather amused at how taken aback the Vala was by the entirety of this revelation - even more so when it was obvious he held no envy for the Maiar he spoke of. Melkor frowned, opening his mouth - likely to say something uncouth - and Mairon looked away before he could. 

“What I am, however, is surprised, that you would risk the danger of Lord Manwë finding you here. You complain incessantly of how difficult it is, returning to Arda simply to see _me_.” He paused just long enough to draw breath before adding in a more lighthearted tone, “So what is your great plan in this, swaying my fellows to your foul bidding or some other such nefarious deeds?” 

“Nothing so malicious,” Melkor said with a deep laugh, his discomfort easing with the joke as Mairon’s own mood freed itself a bit. “I simply - well, I simply enjoy their expressions, I suppose, when I do things they have never seen before. The fawn _all over_ me, Mairon, when others flee at my mere shadow. How am I to resist that?”

He shook his head. “And what slights of hand caused them to fall to pieces so?”

Melkor laughed again, the sound ringing peacefully around them, and held his hand out, palm down over the mossy ground. “This, perhaps?” He motioned his fingers to the side, pulling moisture from the air, until a small globe of water was floating under his palm. He moved his hand a second time, the scent of magic subtle on the breeze around them, and the water froze into shards of ice, shifting into the shape of a blooming wildflower. He plucked it up and extended it for Mairon to take.

“A simple thing,” Melkor drawled, “though they just adored it.”

Mairon held up the icy flower, a little smile on his face. “ _This_ is what had them fawning all over you? My, imagine what a display of real power would do. Would they crawl on their knees, do you think, to kiss the ground you have tread upon?” He pulled forward a surge of heat, burning from the very center of his being to swell into the palm of his hand. The flower melted without the slightest resistance, most of the water steaming away from his skin. A vision of magic itself. “I suppose they all kept theirs. Tokens of your favor?”

Melkor scowled at him and crossed his arms, leaning away slightly, and it took a great deal of effort not to burst with a hearty chuckle by how very put out he was. 

“That was rude,” he grumbled, actually meaning it. “You _are_ out of sorts. Are you ill, Mairon, or merely treacherous toward the world just now? Or -” And he paused here as the thought occured, sitting straighter to better see Mairon’s face again. “Or perhaps you truly _are_ jealous, regardless of what you have said.” He grinned smugly, pleased with himself.

Color rose abruptly in Mairon’s cheeks and he tilted his head forward to allow his hair to cascade over his shoulders, hiding it from view. “I would think not.”

For one troubling second, he thought Melkor was correct. But at the same time - he had been _surprised_ , certainly, when he had discovered this little group of Maiar so taken in by these ‘magic tricks’, especially after all his complaints of time and secrecy. Surprise, at least, was nothing so terrible as envy, and he let out a small breath of air from his lungs, raising his head again with cheeks quite clear. His confidence returned quickly, and he watched a smile spread across the Vala’s entire expression.

“You are the only one I have ever sought out,” Melkor said softly, reaching forward to push his hair fully away. He let his hand linger against Mairon’s jaw for just a moment longer before pulling away. “The others, yes - I amuse them, when I stumble across their packed little group, because it amuses _me_ to do so. They find it so forbidden. With you, however, I enjoy the presence of your soul, and feel as though I could spend countless ages in your company.”

“Flattery,” Mairon replied jokingly.

“Yes, it is very much flattery in _every_ sense imaginable,” Melkor agreed with a nod. “Now, will you come out of this ridiculous temper or must I continue to build your ego higher than it already is?”

A constraint around his heart eased somewhat, lightening and loosening its hold. He took the notebook up from the ground and flipped it open to the page filled with sketches. The earth was still strong beneath him, gentle and lulling with its pull, and beyond that he could feel something else, something he had felt a few times in the past and mistaken for the call of fire in the forge. It was a steady silver hum, so similar to the ache of molten metal, echoing through time and the heavy space surrounding him.

“Might I have a bit of parchment?”

Mairon looked up, drawn from his musings by the odd question. Melkor was gazing at him, one hand mid-gesture toward his book. “Yes, of course,” he replied, opening the back cover and very carefully extracting a single page from the twine holding it all together. He offered it forward. “Here.”

Their fingers met in the exchange, and the silver hum thrummed loudly in his mind for a shortly lived moment, just long enough for Mairon to recognize it as coming from the Vala’s person. Or, perhaps, from his very soul to meet on this plane with his own for whatever reason existed for them to do so. It was an odd experience, one he had not had before with any other acquaintance, be they Valar or Maiar. 

“And some of your graphite?”

“Hmm? Oh, yes.” Mairon blinked his thoughts away and broke the writing stick in half, handing the shorter part over. “Has the idea of art infected you now, as well? Do not tell me you are going to attempt to draw something in imitation of my earlier efforts.”

“Why _no_ , I am merely going to crumple the paper to throw at your stupid, startled face,” Melkor bit back, smirking, “and then use the graphite to scribble all through your precious notes. Actually, I am in no rush yet to leave and, since it appears you were either lost in thought or falling off into a deadened stupor, I desired to amuse myself until you returned to the world.”

Mairon only chortled, observing without shame as Melkor moved his piece of graphite over the scrap of paper, shapes already coming to life with so much depth. He abruptly looked up from his work, their eyes meeting.

“It is the truth, if you were concerned,” he said softly. “The others - they are quite meaningless to me. I only ever return here for your companionship.”

The words were unexpected, and Mairon felt that silver energy surge gently against his soul and ebb away again into the eternal space around them. He recalled, suddenly, what Melkor had said in passing upon his arrival, of following Mairon’s own spirit to find him here hidden under the willow in the garden, so far from the forge.

Melkor was still gazing at him, the look intense as a physical touch upon his skin, and Mairon grinned. “I appreciate your sentiment very much, and your time even more so.”

“Good.”

He returned his attention to the bit of paper once again and leaned back against the tree. Their shoulders brushed, and Melkor moved quite on purpose so he was pressing more against Mairon than the willow. Mairon said nothing, rather content to leave him be for the moment, and returned to his notes as best he could, much more distracted than he had been before, though decidedly less dispirited.


End file.
